Meet the Married Couple Who Both Work as Hollywood Intimacy Coordinators

INTIMACY COORDINATORS HAVE been a bit of a hot topic this Oscar season. During Variety‘s annual Actors on Actors series, Mikey Madison revealed that she chose not to use an intimacy coordinator when the option was presented to her while playing a sex worker in Anora, leading to discourse online surrounding the validity of that choice.

One of the people chiming in was actual professional intimacy coordinator, Jessica Steinrock, whose Tik Tok video response now sits at over 2 million views. She decided not to chide Madison, instead seeing the moment as an opportunity to open up a conversation. Steinrock explained how relatively new the profession still is, and expressed understanding and empathy for those who have misconceptions about what the job actually entails.

“Any intimacy professional essentially has three roles,” Steinrock explained further in a Zoom conversation with Men’s Health. “They are an actor and crew member advocate, there to make sure that folks have their boundaries, discussed, met, and that there are no surprises on set. They are a liaison, meaning that we work with all of the different departments, making sure that everybody has the information that they need to be successful on the day. And the last job we have is, we are there as choreographers and movement specialists. So we’re there to support the director’s vision, within the boundaries of the actors, making sure that the story looks realistic, that the story is telling the story we want it to tell.”

That last part means that a concrete part of an intimacy coordinator’s job is to make sex scenes look real and feel passionate when that’s what the script calls for. This side of the conversation often gets left out. We spoke to not only Jessica, but also her husband Zev Steinrock, also a professional intimacy coordinator, about all that actually goes into making successful sex scenes on set. Here are our six biggest takeaways.

Sex scenes are choreographed—for good reason.

ZEV STEINROCK: For a long time, this work was done by stunt coordinators and fight directors. In the same way that we’re not actually punching somebody, we create the illusion of impact, we are not actually having penetrative sex. We are creating the illusion of penetrative sex. If the illusion isn’t good enough, we call bullshit, and the story doesn’t work. That’s really where the craft lies.

JESSICA STEINROCK: No one’s ever complained about violence in a movie not looking spontaneous enough, not looking dramatic enough, right? Sometimes this pushback about intimacy [coordinating] is like, “If we choreograph it, it’s not going to look dynamic and spicy.” And yet, we do this all the time with hyper specificity when it comes to scenes of violence. We can apply those same techniques to create such dynamic storytelling and such incredible moments that look spontaneous, hot, sexy, steamy, but we’re really using that foundation of choreography. We are also constantly making sure that the actors have full bodily autonomy throughout the entire production.

Consent, boundaries, and trust reign supreme.

Z: The role of the intimacy professional is both to help promote a consent-forward space, advocating and maintaining boundaries, but also to serve the vision of the director. We want both to be happening. If folks are feeling hesitant, then the story is not going to be as dynamic, as exciting, as spicy. That hesitancy can come from an actor having discomfort with another actor and trying to literally protect themselves, either physically or psychologically. It can come from an actor’s fear that they are making the other person feel awful, and so they are like constantly double-checking what they’re doing and not fully committing to the action. It also sometimes comes from the director being terrified of being “that director.” So instead they do something less, and are not willing to take the risk.

J: When I know that we are working in a consent-forward space, I’m seeing a lot of participation from both sides. When participation from all parties is happening, that is a really good sign that we have a clear communication flow and some trust building. I know consent is happening when I hear someone go, “Oh no, I don’t like that. What about this?” and we’re naturally just saying no. Everybody’s afraid that “no” is going to stop the flow, stop the creativity. But oftentimes, our first idea is never our best idea. So when I’m seeing real participation happening, those no’s are what actually is ping-ponging us into deeper and better choreographic decisions, better artistic decisions.

Z: One way I know it’s working is when no’s are flying around without a ton of weight to them, and people are also “yes and-ing” one another. Another way is when the actors are shifting back and forth constantly between conversations about consent as well as the story. If we’re just stuck talking about each other’s boundaries, we’re not actually consensually working on the story. If we walk in and only talk about the story, then that’s not necessarily a consensual environment. When we have both happening, that’s when it’s working the best.

Men, sometimes, have an even more difficult time expressing their boundaries.

J: I try not to make assumptions about gender, sexual orientation, or who this person is, and really meet the actor or director wherever they are. But also, I think it’s fair to talk about some trends and commonalities that I’ve seen. What I’ve seen with men, or the phrase I’ve heard over and over again, is “I’m good with whatever she’s okay with,” especially when we’re doing a hetero romantic scene.

There’s oftentimes that desire to protect, to not overstep, to make sure that they know their scene partner is safe. This comes from a beautiful place of collaboration and wanting to build trust. But one of the challenges there is that sometimes I struggle to get men to specify what their boundaries are. They do also have boundaries, right? One of my jobs is to push a little deeper. To say, “Here are some things that I’m thinking might happen in the scene. How are those for you? What do you need to do your best work?” Once those male scene partners realize that they’re being taken care of as well, it really starts to build that foundation where trust can develop, because both actors need to feel confident. Both actors need to know that their agency is going to be maintained throughout the whole production

Z: That feeling of not wanting to harm your scene partner, and also that societal feeling of not wanting to be seen a particular way or being afraid of being seen as someone who’s “part of the problem,” can get in the way of someone being completely open and trusting. With many of the men I’ve worked with, I find them wanting to assign boundaries to the other person. Like, “They probably don’t want me to grab them and kiss them,” or, “They don’t want me to make these sounds right in their face.” They try to guess what their boundaries are, and then stay far away from them. That’s where we get this sense of hesitant storytelling. If the trust isn’t being built and the communication isn’t happening, then this is what we’re left with. Part of our job as the intimacy professional is to get everyone on the same team, to give everyone the confidence to trust the yes that they’re hearing from their partner.

Power can be a tricky thing. That’s where intimacy coordinators come in especially handy.

Z: The single biggest thing that gets in the way of consent is power. The real shit of it is that it’s not actually about whether the power exists or not. It’s about whether the person thinks the power is there. So, if I imagine that you have power over me, even if it’s not true, then you have power over me that will make me second guess saying no to something because of a negative consequence. That kind of power, real or perceived, is just littered throughout the entertainment industry. As an actor, you are constantly auditioning for the next job. If you’re hired, you’ve got this one project, and how you do on this project will determine whether the people who make the decisions like you enough for the next project. There’s so much pressure in the way of risking being the difficult actor that just will very quickly make you say, “I’ll just say yes to this, even though I’m not cool with it. Or, “I want to have a conversation about this, but I don’t want to be the thing that slows this down, so I’m just going to tough it out.” Or, “I’m so afraid of being the director that gets written about [as the one] traumatizing these people that I’m just going to back off on this scene and let the intimacy professional tell me what we’re supposed to do.” None of that is right.

J: One of the reasons why I think intimacy professionals are so important is because, in many ways, we are not perceived nearly with the same amount of power that directors or producers have. So, we can have that private conversation with an actor where they can say, “Hey, I’m really worried about this happening,” and I go, “Great, here’s how we’re going to problem-solve this, and no one else ever needs to know.” There are many times where I have stepped under the bus and said, “Hey, actually, this is a boundary for me, so we’re going to set some boundaries around this thing.” Then no one needs to know which actor was the one who said that they didn’t want to do it. I can just kind of step in and say, “This is what’s going to happen.” That’s de-personalizing it from the person with the boundary. Being able to kind of flow inside that power dynamic doesn’t get rid of it, but it can mitigate some of the negative consequences around it.

Consistent “check-ins” are essential for success

J: Safety is not without risk. There is no 100% safety, mistakes happen. But what we can do is create an acceptable range of risk. We also have practices for what happens when things go wrong. When harm happens we say, “Okay, what do we need to shift in order for this to not happen again?” Problem solving is something that intimacy coordinators are particularly good at. When we discover a boundary that wasn’t talked about because we just crossed it, and now it’s there, we re-clarify what the boundaries are by checking in about needs. If someone’s catching someone and the boundary is, “Hey, don’t touch my butt,” but this particular catch may make it really hard for an actor to avoid that. [I may ask], “What do you need in order to maintain this boundary?” Maybe we have to shift to a different kind of hold. I check in to see if everybody actually has what they need in order to respect those boundaries. Then [talk about what] the next take looks like and how we can do this repeatedly and safely.

Z: The check in is big because one of the core pieces [of intimacy coordination] is [maintaining] consent and communication. The check in is about making sure that the consent is still there. “What did we just learn, and how do we need to adjust this consent?” What that literally looks like on set sometimes is just a quick moment of eye contact with the actor. [When you’ve] built a relationship with the actor, you can see if they’re response is a little less [sure] than it was, which might lead to some more questions. Or [their response] could just be, “Nope, we’re still good.” When it starts happening often, the stakes of that check in can start to feel low. It then makes it so much easier to make an adjustment, or a request.

Having a positive experience with an intimacy coordinator onset can be useful in other areas of life

J: We are talking about boundaries, consent, all of these things in relation to art, creativity, and storytelling. That is this thing that we all really want to do. Every time that I personally have gone to anti-harassment training in the real world, a sexuality workshop, a webinar, whatever, they feel so dry. They feel intimidating. They’re usually talking about the difference between sexual assault and not sexual assault versus, when we’re in the theater, we’re talking about crossing boundaries and storytelling. We’re talking about artistry, which makes some of these really weighty topics much more accessible.

Z: Consent and communication are critical for this work, but they are not unique to this work. So having a chance to practice it in this form does literally make it easier to use it in other spaces, in the same way that you’ll see corporate America hire improv comedians to do improv comedy workshops with people who are advertising folks. Ultimately, what they’re trying to do there is to spark creativity and collaboration. However, the topic of sex is really loaded, and it isn’t necessarily the most comfortable way for someone to learn the thing. So, everyone benefits from practicing communication and consent, not just reading about it, but studying it through an embodied practice.

JESSICA STEINROCK is an intimacy coordinator and CEO of Intimacy Directors and Coordinators (IDC). She is best known for her work on Little Fires Everywhere (hulu) and Animal Kingdom (TNT). As a co-leader of the intimacy coordination movement, she works to implement best practices for scenes of intimacy, nudity and simulated sex for the promotion of actor safety and more efficient storytelling and was part of the team of Intimacy Coordinators who worked with SAG-AFTRA to create their guidelines for intimacy coordinators. In addition to this, she is a consultant for production companies interested in implementing intimacy coordination as a standard for their productions.

ZEV STEINROCK is a fight director, intimacy director, teacher, and performer, currently serving as an Assistant Professor of Acting at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. He is a certified teacher with the Society of American Fight Directors, and a certified intimacy director with Intimacy Directors & Coordinators. Zev’s research into trauma-informed choreography practices is being presented to professionals all over the country. National Fight and Intimacy Direction credits include South Coast Repertory Theatre, Paper Mill Playhouse, Notre Dame Shakespeare Festival, Arkansas Shakespeare Festival, The Williamston Theatre, and Definition Theatre Company.